


A debt of kisses

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur learns the benefits of mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A debt of kisses

The Yule Fest was near, and you bustled cheerfully about Erebor’s library, humming one of the old, traditional songs to bolster your holiday spirit as you tackled the happy task of decorating your workspace. Your latest flash of inspiration found you balanced precariously on a chair, reaching to tie a silken ribbon attached to a tiny branch of greenery onto the hanging lantern in the library’s entryway, and Bofur, who likewise whistled a merry tune, walked into the small vestibule and pulled up short upon seeing you.

“What _are_ you doing?” 

You carefully climbed down from your perch and brushed wrinkles from your skirts. “Just making things a bit more festive,” you smiled.

He picked up another sprig from the cluster of leafy branches in your marketing basket and looked at it curiously. “What’s this, then?”

“Mistletoe,” you explained. “I bought it at the Yuletide market in Dale. ’Tis very popular among the folk there.”

Bofur gingerly sniffed the dusky green leaves. “And why might that be?”

“Well, there is a tradition,” you explained, a mischievous grin plucking at your lips, “that if a couple should find themselves beneath a sprig of mistletoe, they must share a kiss.”

His face brightened with a new enthusiasm for the hitherto unremarkable plant, and he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “Is that so?”

“Aye.” Your eyes flicked upward to the freshly decorated lantern above your heads as you stepped closer to him, your hands lightly smoothing the tail ends of his scarf over his chest, and he swept you into his arms with plain admiration in his glance.

“I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you, lass,” he grinned.

“What, just the one?” you teased.

He shook his head. “Too many to count.”

Your chuckle sparked his, and you nuzzled his nose with your own, murmuring, “kiss me.”

His palms flattened on your back, pressed you to him, and his lips hovered tantalizingly near yours, ready to oblige. “At your service, my beauty.”

* * *

It would soon become apparent that Bofur had made his own trip to the Yuletide market, for he suddenly seemed never to be without a bit of mistletoe on his person. When he crept up on you working at your desk, while you danced with him at the Yule feasts, as you walked together in the moonlight of an evening, without warning the green sprig would appear in his hand as though by magic – you once wondered if he was keeping them in his hat – and your laughing lips gave as many kisses as he wished to claim.

On the last night of Yule, when he had walked you home to your chambers and stood with you before the door whispering sweet goodnights, you smiled when he produced one more branch of mistletoe from the pocket of his coat.

“I must confess, I shall miss this,” you admitted, and he chuckled.

“No fear, sweetheart,” he assured you teasingly, “I’ve no plans to stop kissing you just because Yuletide is over.”

* * *

Spring had come, and brought with it gloriously blue skies and soft, warm sunlight that beckoned you outside, making you restless in the mountain’s shelter, and you were all too eager to abandon the quiet of the library to sit on the river’s bank with Bofur, wading and fishing and picnicking. 

A respectable catch of fish were strung on a line to carry back with you for supper, and you had eaten your last bite of mince pie and reclined with a contented sigh to lie on the woolen blanket you’d spread over the sun-warmed grasses, while Bofur sat at your side, retrieving his tobacco pouch from his pocket in preparation for his after-luncheon pipe.

You closed your eyes against the dazzling glare of the midday sun. A gentle breeze ruffled your hair and caressed your skin, and you had just decided that you could quite happily doze off when something ticklish grazed your nose. You opened your eyes to see a faded, leathery sprig of mistletoe dangling just over your face and Bofur propped on his elbow beside you, his mustache twitching with an impish grin.

The trill of your laughter joined the babbling of the river as it skipped over its pebbly banks, and you looked at him in amazement. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“Well, this is the last of it,” he shrugged. “Kept a bit tucked away, see…never know when you might need it.”

Another chuckle escaped your lips, and you reached to give one of his braids an affectionate tug. “You are a wonder,” you said fondly.

He beamed, and tossed the mistletoe aside to cup your cheek in his rough palm, tracing his thumb over the plump swell of your lower lip. “Oh, but I do love you, lass.”

“And I love you, my One,” you promised, the warmth of his gaze and the beauty of the day making you joyful and giddy and daring all at once, filling your head with songs and your stomach with butterflies, and you curled your fingers into the front of his tunic to draw him closer, coax his strong arms around you where you lay under the golden sun, with your voice only a breathless whisper.

“Kiss me.”


End file.
